


take it easy for a little while

by astridleong



Category: Crazy Rich Asians (2018)
Genre: F/M, Identity Reveal, Sexual Tension, definitely, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 06:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15790773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astridleong/pseuds/astridleong
Summary: Araminta was a little in awe of this man who didn’t seem to fear a damn thing.(Three and a half years before the wedding.)





	take it easy for a little while

The best summer nights, Araminta thought, looked like late, late afternoon. There was just something sublime about a sun setting to allow stars to appear in the violet sky. Something glorious hiding something quietly beautiful. Something spectacular followed by an understated elegance.

Araminta was headed to her favorite bar. No bigger than a cafe and located in a shady back alley, it was the perfect place for a well-known person to hide from crowds. Not that being a fashion icon wasn’t enjoyable, because it was. She just wished it wasn’t all she was known for. The tabloids were always hyper-focused on her outfits and relationships and family drama, never mentioning a word about what really deserved attention- her charity project. It was a housing development project working to design and build large hotels for impoverished people around the world. It was the best thing she’d ever done.

(She’d pulled some strings to ensure that her charity couldn’t be easily traced back to her, but _still._ All it would take would be a couple of Google searches and an ability to put two and two together, and _Hotel International_ would be on the front page of the _Singapore Tattle_.)

She managed to slip into the tiny bar unnoticed. No one in the area ever noticed anything, so her anonymity was certainly protected. It was a place only alcoholics and mysterious homebodies frequented.

Araminta enjoyed the privacy too much to worry about the company she was keeping.

She took a seat on a faded velvet stool, ordered a Bloody Mary on the rocks, and pulled a worn copy of _Candide_ out of her black Marc Jacobs bag. Twenty pages in and she was in a different world, a whole new place, a new area in her mind palace where nothing could interrupt-

“You know, _Zaïre_ is one of his better works. _Candide_ is just Voltaire’s ego trying to convince people that cynicism is wisdom.” A smooth voice cut in to interrupt her mental process.

Araminta turned around quick as a viper, easygoing half-smile gone and replaced by a raised brow. _Who the hell does this guy think he is?_ “I didn’t know I was in the presence of a philosopher.”

A smirk. “Not a philosopher. Just well-read.”

 _Christ. The_ nerve _of this guy!_ Araminta sized him up quickly. Slight British accent, so educated abroad. Dark red Ralph Lauren button-down with jeans and brown loafers. Banana Republic watch. Cheekbones. Probably old money.

...Not that it was relevant, but. Kind of hot.

But not attractive enough to prevent her from knocking him down a peg. She returned his smirk with full force. “‘Well-read’? Is that what the kids are calling insufferable, pretentious cunts nowadays?” Her own slight British accent gave the words a flirtatious bite.

The man’s eyes widened, looking half offended, half impressed, like he wasn’t used to people with the boldness to meet him halfway and continue to push. He slid into the stool next to hers. “Well, now I have to buy you a drink.”

“I already have one. Or is your eyesight as weak as your literary tastes?”

“Then maybe _you_ could buy _me_ a drink.”

 _Oh, my God. This cheeky prick._ She raised both eyebrows. Araminta was a little in awe of this man who didn’t seem to fear a damn thing.

Without breaking eye contact, she gestured for the bartender, making sure to order for him before he could tell her what he liked.

“Pinot noir, please.” She grinned at him. “Perfect drink for a tryhard posh git.”

There was something in the air now, crackling like fire. It was so damn _refreshing,_ like cool water at three in the morning, how they could banter like regular people, how she knew he wasn’t putting on airs just to impress her since she had money.

The man offered his hand. “I’m Colin.”

She shook it. “Alright.”

Caught off guard, Colin laughed. “Usually people say what their name is in return? It’s kind of a give-and-take situation. Takes two to tango.”

“Well, I didn’t _ask_ for your name,” Araminta pointed out. She grinned, and Colin grinned back.

“Alright then.” He waved his hand at the bartender, staring her down. “Hey, bartender? Two beers, please.”

Araminta’s smile widened, and she shifted to bring her chair closer so their knees were touching. “I don’t care for beer.”

“Who’s posh now?” Colin’s eyes sparkled. “To be honest, I don’t like beer either.”

“So you only ordered it to one-up me?”

“Maybe I wanted to keep this conversation going.”

“Well, that makes one of us.” Araminta leaned forwards, mentally high-fiving herself when she saw Colin’s eyes darkening slightly. _Still got it._ “So. Tell me about your delusional opinions regarding French philosophers.”

“I’d be glad to.” The amusement in Colin’s expression never wavered, but his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he didn’t know what to make of her.

As if he wanted to know.

_Good. We’re on the same page._

Araminta’s lips curved to form a mischievous smile. “We’ve got all night.”

 

____________________________________________________________

 

They left the bar slightly tipsy, Colin’s shirt unbuttoned slightly and Araminta’s gold-tinted sunglasses lopsided.

Araminta was feeling reckless. She was feeling the rush of adrenaline and alcohol and hormones and the desperation to make bad decisions. Not that it was the first time, because it was far from the first time, but there was something different now.

It was mostly the adrenaline that drove her to link her arm with Colin’s, and mostly the alcohol that allowed her to admit to herself that she didn’t want the night to end. Araminta gestured at the small Italian restaurant across the street, shoved her sunglasses into her purse. “Let’s get some dinner.”

“I don’t care for Italian.” A corner of Colin’s mouth lifted up.

 _Oh, this bastard._ Against her will, Araminta’s smile spread across her face. “Me neither.”

The violet night sky was gorgeous, all-encompassing, and unapologetically flawed, stars poking out from behind the mask of Singapore’s light pollution. It was humid. The air was charged with _something,_ and it made Araminta wonder if her life had meant to lead her to this moment, outside an awful bar, linking arms with an attractive, witty stranger who she might never see again.

She turned to stare at him, stumbling, and he grabbed her arms to steady her. They shared a heated look. It lasted all of three seconds before Araminta shoved him against the wall of the shady back alley and pulled him in for a fierce kiss. She raked her fingers through his hair, a little aggressive, and Colin reciprocated instantly, hands around her waist, mouth around her bottom lip. He deepened the kiss, and Araminta let out a noise that would be embarrassing if she hadn’t lost all her shame just a minute ago.

She wanted to get to know him, she realized. She wanted to learn who he’d been, who he was, who he wanted to be. She wanted to figure out which philosophical thinkpieces he liked, which art he loved, which politicians he supported.

She wanted to keep kissing him. So she did. Life was too short to deny herself simple pleasures.

Colin broke the kiss for some air, hair sticking up in every direction, hands on the sides of her face, looking like he could be in love. “Now you _have_ to tell me your name.”

 _Hell, I really do._ “It’s Araminta.”

His blissed-out grin froze, then faded away as realization hit him like a speeding Jeep. “Wait a second.” Colin gaped at her. “You’re Araminta Lee.”

“Well, that depends. Who’s asking?” She took a step back, looked him up and down.

Hang on.

_Shit._

“Colin _Khoo?_ ” _Fuck. I_ knew _I’d seen him somewhere before!_

“This can’t be happening. If any of the tabloid reporters had seen us- I’m supposed to be seeing someone else-”

“Jesus Christ, calm down. It’s not like we’re getting married.” Araminta snorted, although his words were a bucket of ice water. What was she _thinking?_ She was supposed to be seeing someone else too, an old money real estate mogul from Hong Kong. No one could afford to chase romance; that was just how life was for people like them. Every decision was carefully chosen to benefit the family. To strengthen the alliances forged decades ago.

But just for a moment, Araminta had let herself imagine she was just a regular girl, able to take home a regular guy, maybe let herself find a happy ending.

She blinked back tears. _No point in false hope. God, I’m such an idiot. I’ve made a damn fool of myself._ “I guess I should get home.” She took a reluctant step back, started walking away quickly.

“Wait!” Colin had caught up. He fumbled around in his pockets a bit, easy charm and natural snark and dimples replaced with something a little vulnerable. He pulled out a Sharpie, clicked it open. Then he took off one of his loafers and scribbled something on it. Hesitated, just for a second. Offered the shoe to her like it was a dowry.

Araminta took the loafer. It had a phone number hastily written on it.

She glanced up at Colin. He stared back at her.

Her lips twitched, and he started grinning.

Then they both burst out laughing.

Araminta shook her head. “Jesus! Bloody _hell_. Of all the _desperate_ moves-”

“In my defense, you can’t buy pride-”

“God, shut up. Shit.”

The giggles faded away. Araminta glanced at Colin again, and they burst into peals of laughter again.

“Why-” Colin choked out, “why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Araminta snickered. She stared at him before delivering the punch line. “Just. That must’ve been a really good kiss.”

Colin _lost it._

They were both howling with laughter now, looking very much like two drunk idiots on the street, and it was the best night Araminta had ever had. She felt like she’d known him her entire life. She wanted to make him laugh again.

Colin smiled at her, almost fond. “Well. You have my number now. Call me. You don’t have to, of course. It’d be nice, though.” His eloquence was forgotten. “Uh. I should get going.”

“You don’t have to.” The words spilled out before she could think twice.

He paused, eyes lighting up with realization and hope and _want._ “Where else would I go?”

Oh, God. “Christ. Smartass. Don’t make me say it.”

The smirk was back, though it was less smug now and more gleeful. “We can take my car.”

Araminta knew somehow that it’d all work out. She offered her hand, and he took it. She smiled.

“Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> colin: *makes out with araminta one (1) time*
> 
> colin: time to give her a shoe to prove my love
> 
> Guess who's a slut for the enemies to lovers trope? Leave a comment if you enjoyed! Or a prompt (this fic was based off a prompt actually! Someone asked for Colin and Araminta and I took many, many creative liberties. I liked their movie dynamic a lot than their book dynamic.)


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